And I
by DaisyKash
Summary: "As much as I hate to admit this, Leo, I care about you. And I care what happens to you. And I don't know much about you, but just as much as you can't imagine yourself lying as a vegetable whose life is controlled by doctors and your parents, I can't imagine you…letting this tumor just kill you without an honest fight." Set during 1x09.


"And I'll have a nice death."

April looked back, and she saw Leo looking down—his eyes emotionless, as if he'd submitted to his fate. Granted, he was much farther along the road than she was when it came to dealing with his cancer, and considering his options. She knew her options: to _live_, whatever it took. But one thing that she'd learned about him over the course of their short lived relationship was that she and Leo were vastly different, and he clearly didn't see things in the same light that she did.

She remembered when he started losing his ability to speak coherently earlier that day. It was strange to her, seeing him like that. Despite the fact that he was terminal—only having at most a couple more months to live—he always seemed to have his head on straight. And aside from his seizure a couple of weeks back, seeing him not totally in control seemed against his nature. Like this tumor wasn't just taking away his life, it was taking control of it. It was taking away from him what made him _Leo. _

She turned around, taking a breath. She wiped the tears from her eyes, and walked towards him.

"I know—" she breathed, "I know I can't change your mind, Leo. And I know to you I'm just this girl you just hooked up with—"

"April—"

"Let me finish, Leo, okay?"

He nodded. He didn't seem thrilled with the idea, and there was this—_guilt _in his eyes? Maybe, but then again, Leo Hendrie didn't really do guilt. But sitting in a hospital bed could do all kinds of crazy things to a person.

"As much as I hate to admit this, Leo, I care about you. And I care what happens to you. And I don't know much about you, but just as much as you can't imagine you lying as a vegetable whose life is controlled by doctors and your parents, I can't imagine you…letting this tumor just kill you without an honest fight."

G-d, talk about being honest. She hated that she constantly felt the need to intervene in other's lives, try to convince them into doing what she believes is best for them—while all her life, she'd only been listening to her gut instead of to the people who care about her. She's been this self-dependent girl who didn't believe in getting help from others—maybe because she didn't want others to have to suffer because of her. She suddenly understood Leo's mentality, the need to make his own decisions and not let anyone else sway his opinion. Even if a part of him knew that she was right.

She never thought she'd see the day when anyone could have rendered him speechless. But he just looked at her, his dark eyes rigid and indecipherable, his lips pursed. He was sitting on the white hospital bed, his hands at his sides and his fingers grasping onto the bed so tightly, as if he'd fall over if he loosened his grip. But his eyes didn't divert from hers, and if she were to be totally honest with herself, she wasn't sure she wanted them to. Because it seemed like this was the only part of him that was telling the truth, that couldn't hide how afraid he really was.

And she understood—but the truth was, she didn't want to. She hoped that she'd never have to be in his place: her life being just a waiting game, until her body gave into the enemy it was battling for too long. And the silence, she had to admit, was tormenting her. Because Leo Hendrie was usually anything but silent.

"You've given in," she finally found her voice again, but she didn't want to continue. He was _dying_. How could she just take that and walk away?

She'd let it out. She wasn't sure she had anything left to say—or if she could _find _the words. Because what can you really tell a self-important person who's thinking of only his _legacy, _of what he leaves to this world when he himself leaves it? Who doesn't seem to notice that he's not the only one who would be affected by his death, and that even though he has come to peace with it, there are others who still need him in their lives?

"But _you_ still have hope," he finally spoke, and she wasn't sure why she was surprised that his voice wasn't soft or unstable, "Don't—"

"Yeah?"

Then she heard the door creak open.

"Leo Hendrie?"

"Don't wear it out," he spoke.

The nurse rolled her eyes at him, and then said, "The radiologist is here to see you."

"I'm sorry, I better—" April said, pushing her hair behind her ear and turning to leave. Again.

"April," Leo said, and she turned to look at him again, "You're not just some girl I hooked up with, okay?"

"Leo—"

The radiologist walked in just then, and April turned again and walked towards the door. Before she shut it behind her, she heard him speak what she truly hoped weren't his last words to her.

"I'm sorry."


End file.
